


I know who I am when I'm alone (I'm something else when I see you)

by madsaialik



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Daddy Kink, F/M, Mild breeding kink, Shapeshifting, Werepanthers, animal grooming, oh boy, soft choking, they're horny ur honor it ain't my fault, undiscussed but consensual, what if i made ben a remote park ranger then didn't give him blockers :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsaialik/pseuds/madsaialik
Summary: Living in Alaska for so long it’s difficult to unravel her scent, using the task to keep his head clear. The tang of limestone behind her ear, juniper needles in the dark strip of fur running down her spine, baked earth on the line of her shoulder. A smear of ocean spray that does and doesn’t belong to her, the smell of an island at the heart of this desert girl. Something he can’t name trying them together, the bittersweetness of waiting, honeyed nectar-like longing, nearly sacchariferous as rosehips between his teeth.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 19
Kudos: 190





	I know who I am when I'm alone (I'm something else when I see you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachykeenjellybean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachykeenjellybean/gifts), [vuas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuas/gifts).



> don't let the purity police see this bc they won't understand having a kink thrown at u and being like "ya that's hot" 
> 
> i was already writing abo i didn't see why i couldn't throw in daddy kink as a treat, i'm accepting zero criticism at this time, thank u, come again

In the predawn, hours Ben Solo stepped out on his porch, a blue tin cup steaming in his hand. An unbuttoned black and red wool shirt pulled over his shoulders, no reason to be put together with various chores to accomplish before setting out to patrol his territory. Not his territory, the thought grated on him even as he corrected himself, but the State of Alaska's.

His cabin nestled within the rolling foothills, located between the river of wind that frames the mountains in high banks of snow. The interior is worn with no electricity or running water, the space dominated by the large bed piled high with pelts. Grass grows up around the broken step he keeps meaning to fix, fireweed will bloom outside his window saturating the hottest month of the year. A crispness that settles under his own interactions with the earth, soot and ash met with fresh sap. The thump of his heels marking the uneven boards and an owl hooting, every action met with an equal or opposite reaction, the ebb and flow of macrocosm fitted neatly in his senses. 

Winter stubbornly clings to the air and gray, wind scraped peaks, slipping under his shirt and cooling fur-warm skin. This remote, he needs no supervision, no astringent taste of blockers, only fresh air and solitude to keep much of his biology quiet. 

Alaska is not made for cats, no happy medium between the jagged stone face and flat expanse of tundra for claw-sheathed paws, and too heavy to gracefully walk on top of the snow like his smaller ancestors. Other shifters migrated here out of instinct depending on stamina or brute strength for survival, wolves and bears thrived in this terrain. 

He spends the rising hours of the sun weaving through the trees on four paws, following a chaotic path of wolf musk rubbed onto the bark and low-lying pine needles. The pack was annoyingly short, he thought with his head bent to his work. The scent of a bear distracted him, dank and fresh from hibernation, winter fur pulled out in clumps against a tree. Testy animals, ones Ben tried not to cross often in the spring months, brawls too evenly sized and matched, and he didn't want any more scars. 

As a park ranger in the bush, his main job was to protect nature from poachers and trespassers as he moved through his-- the park each day, a hefty four hundred square miles to himself. His feet near silent on the spongy layer of pine needles. Other shifters weren't allowed in this area, their pheromones spooking the fauna. The wolf scent was a mystery, not large enough to be a shifter and ballsy to be this close to his cabin. The area was drenched in his scent, rubbing his broad, square head along the perimeter. 

Ben ignored his dwindling stock of cut wood to track the scent and perhaps discover the source of faint, woodfire smoke in the air. 

Bird song has returned a few short weeks ago, filling in the gaps of wind and black cap chickadee chirping. To live in peace, even being alone, is more than most Alpha's can hope for. Solitary by nature, he doesn't realize the weight of his isolation until the wind shifts and his nostrils flare.

Color has yet to return in the bloom of wildflowers, and the flash of fish scales under the sunlight, the world still damp under the snowmelt and heavy with the decomposition of last autumn. His whiskers twitched as he scented the short breeze, sweet and humid, nothing he's ever come across. There's something dangerous to it, not unlike the other predators in the area, but tart and herb-like.

He moved quickly over the uneven ground pitted with rocks and roots, careful of dry twigs and dipping under tangles of underbrush and thick branches. 

Leaves slick with dew-wet his fur, forcing him to shake his black coat. He’s lined with tawny strips like lightning and provides the suggestions of spots when the light refracts. The wind shifts, and he darts to capture it, nearly tangible in the grooves of his tongue designed to catch it. Mealy rosehips and pungent mushrooms can't divert him from his mad chase with no foreseeable target, even when his pantry is running scarce. 

He knows instinctually, he senses it locked under the disbelief. Hanging moss slides across his cheek when he slides to a stop, wary of the sudden openness of a meadow. A squirrel scrambles for the safety of the high, creaking branches atop the thin, swaying branches. The birds go quiet, the flutter of wings quiet and fleeting. He moves slowly, careful to place his padded feet on patches of moss between the giant curls of whitebark hanging from birch trees. Sun-dappled leaves paint across the earth in shifting patterns, cloaking his movements in the shadow of high noon. He's too focused on the silence in the meadow for a moment too long, paw splashing against water, the sudden change of sensation forcing him a step back clumsily. He bares his teeth, not the water, but his own reaction. Movement makes him whip around, a brilliant golden head lifts from the bright grass. Dark brown fur line eyes a shade greener than he’s ever seen, the cool touch of spring and new growth, nature at its most beautiful. 

_You._

His core tightens, muscles bunched in preparedness to-- what? The apex predator stares him down unflinching. Unsure whether on to pounce or bow, Ben moves hesitantly to the edge of the meadow. His paw lifts to step into the sunlight when her lips pull back into a snarl making his head jerk back. 

_Omega._

She backs away, shoulders rolling with the impact of an avalanche, a low growl in her throat that only emboldens him to advance with a cock of his head. Ears flat against her skull as she hisses and lashes out, claws catching above his eye and down his face, hackles still up as she twists in a blur. With a flick of her tail and a smear of blood, she’s gone. 

_Mine._

They crash through the forest without caution, branches snap and whip into his sensitive nose and along the smooth fur of his cheek. Thorns scratch at him and sap stuck to his fur unnoticed compared to the sting of the wound she inflicted. He follows her scent under the metallic taste pooling under his tongue, overriding every sense and function. Ambush predators, they’re made for short bursts of speed they shouldn’t be able to maintain this mad sprint, but Ben has spent years deterring wolves from caribou and moose calves. Tearing himself away from her wake, breathing in the fresh air to clear his head and directive, he changes direction. One ear is pointed in her general direction, listening to her clumsy and erratic bounds. Muscles taut, mind tauter, his ambition narrows and curls low in his stomach. 

She skids to a stop when he circled ahead, a heat sluicing through his core as he tensed from higher ground. Her chest heaved, tips of her canines on display as she panted. Tawny fur is loose and tangled under the shaded canopy of spruce and birch, expanding ribs moving too fast and too stark against her sides. She looks hungry, strange when she’s designed and conditioned to kill. He could hunt for her, feed her, protect her, mate her—

Ben could take care of her and never be alone again—

It wouldn’t take much, he knew the semantics. His tail twitches as he steps forward, elated when she allows it. How easy it would be to open his jaw over her neck, he can feel the instinct in the root of his teeth and winces at the thought. Memories muddled in this form of the several sexual education classes he endured, something of barbs and knots. The few beta partners had been curious, one even asking him to mount her, but knowing he would cause pain prevented him from doing so. The thought of mating as a panther was natural and confusing and strange. Blockers had prevented his rut in his adolescence, there was no such barrier now to keep the intrinsic demand to breed from being so loud. Ben wanted-- he wanted blunt fingernails to rake down her arched back, dull incisors to scar over her mating gland. He shakes his head to knock the thoughts loose, the fur of his neck shifting with the movement. Drops of scarlet violently bright against the fresh greenery. 

Just as he decides to take control of his body, she collapses in a heap of golden fur and claws. 

Walking across the forest floor matted with fallen leaves and tangled roots, with an abnormally large mountain lion over his shoulders, all the while completely nude and bleeding is a task so daunting he can ignore how his cock remains half hard the entire journey. The base of his shaft felt tight, coiled and distracting enough that he can keep himself from being inappropriately aroused.  
Unconscious or not, he can’t fuck a cat and he can’t demand her to shift, he can’t demand anything. 

Frustration gives way to a low simmering rage. He hadn’t asked for this, none of it; designation as alpha, a childhood of challenging his mother, the offer that felt like salvation flying him to this very cabin and leaving, and most of all, this omega coming into his territory. 

Opening his door becomes a struggle of shifting the lion to one shoulder, soft paws grazing against the back of his thighs as he jiggles the door handle just right. 

How odd to have someone else in his space, the sense of rightness as he lays her down on the patchwork blankets and pelts. He’s lived in his own scent for so long that hers is overwhelming against the dry wood, blueberry jam, and yeast from the last loaf of bread he made. Ben looks around, unsure of what to do with any of his limbs.  
There is a sudden and demanding urge to touch her, to remind himself that she’s real. His hand trembles as he reaches for her, palm running over the various golden tones of her cheek and over the tuft of hair behind her cheek. Her neck is long and lean as the rest of her, a small purr reverberating through his hand as he passes over her scent gland. Ben feels it then, the itch under his skin and the brief pain as bones reorient themselves, hardly noticed when his sense of smell is heightened to a higher degree. 

He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in the mouth-watering scent. Clean and fragrant as a winter day and burning his lungs just the same, muddled by the smells of the forest. Dirt and sap and sweet cedar on her skin, raked away by his tongue, as the fur over his shoulder twitches. Ben steps up, feeling the bed sink under his weight to settle behind her. 

How does a cat get this dirty? 

Ben has never groomed someone else, remembering his mother doing this for him after shifting had left him shaking and panicked. The texture of her fur is different from his, the soft undercoat thinner for hotter climates. Where had she come from? Slowly, stroke by stroke, he uncovers her. There is a heat and dryness of her past, imprinted on her skin, a desert breeze lingering under the grooves of his tongue. Who was she before she came here? The tang of fear and hunger laces through every muscle, not something he felt in his presence. He must kill the urge to hunt down whoever tainted her scent this way, leaving his—leaving her is unthinkable. 

Living in Alaska for so long it’s difficult to unravel her scent, using the task to keep his head clear. The tang of limestone behind her ear, juniper needles in the dark strip of fur running down her spine, baked earth on the line of her shoulder. A smear of ocean spray that does and doesn’t belong to her, the smell of an island at the heart of this desert girl. Something he can’t name trying them together, the bittersweetness of waiting, honeyed nectar-like longing, nearly sacchariferous as rosehips between his teeth. 

She purrs the entire time, a dulcet rumble and encouraging shockwave through his ministrations. Her breathing remains smooth and slow, even when she tilts her head toward him and signs in a huff. The pang of hunger spikes under his nose, her stomach growling more viciously than she did. Ben rises immediately, crawling off the bed with two feet bare against the wood floor, crossing the threadbare rug to the pantry to pull out the last of his smoked salmon stores. Freshwater is placed in a basin with a cup, piled up with the fish on a tray. 

Green, wool pants are draped over the back of his armchair, roughly compared to the memory of her as he pulls them up his thighs and the fabric scraping against his skin. Ben can’t bear to put a shirt on, the heat in his chest pooling, and curling with the tide of his heartbeat. A tendril of hair sticks to the back of his neck, yanked roughly into a leather tie as she shifts again on his bed. His jaw works as he forces himself to make the decision to give her space, not wanting to scare her further in the sudden shift from unconscious to an unfamiliar room. The sole of his worn boots slap hard against his porch, as he curls and flexes his fingers before pulling the door shut behind him. 

Rey wakes to everything she has ever wanted and simultaneously her worst fears; the comfort of a nest and the scent of Alpha. Food is set out for her, gorged on until she licks at the plate. The water is fresh and lapped at greedily as she studies the space she has been taken to. She should feel scared, she thinks, if the scent wasn't so familiar and soothing.

A big cat lives here, obvious in how solitary the occupant keeps the single room. Only one size of a shirt hanging in the open closet, one armchair next to an over-full bookshelf, minimum glassware on the shelf over the woodstove. 

Her head hurts from lack of water, muscle sore from crashing through the jagged ground of the unfamiliar forest. The first stretch is a test for injuries now that the adrenaline has faded, the second languid, and indulgent against the pile of furs. She knows whoever brought her here intimately, each emotion stirred and settled within every grain of the wood. There is a sour resentment, he hates this place, and not a trace of her would argue. Violence, peace. Cold, warmth. Alphas and Omegas are not designed to be alone, it goes against their nature. True lion Omegas, not the shabby offshoot she is, often lived together in prides. Other big cats found one other tolerable to spend time within society, not spit and snarl lost in the forest. Rey never felt good in crowds, cities too crowded and suppressants making her skin too tight, mandatory for full shifters. At eighteen her foster father gave her three things: her birth certificate, her parent’s death certificates, and an eviction notice. Running away had been easy, slowly weaving up the Cascades over five seasons, her nineteenth birthday lost in the crude wind. How liberating and heartbreaking it was to know no one would look for her. Her downfall was her inability to hunt and scavenging what she could and stealing what she couldn’t. Beta’s made her skittish, skirting towns, breaking into cabins like this. If the scent of—panther wasn’t so strong, she would have thought it a terrible, confusing dream. 

Panther. Alpha. Her memory is hazy, only remembering the bulk of his frame and deep, star-flecked eyes. So long on four paws, her instincts had been a multitude of confusing contradictions of fight, flight, and fuck. Even now there is the urge to run, to feel her muscles bunch with every bound to safety as she rubs her head against the still warm caribou fur saturated in his scent. The noise in her throat is caught halfway between a growl and a purr. 

The furs of his bed are softer against her skin instead of her own coat. Rey’s other form is considerably smaller but still powerful. She has always reveled in the ability to protect herself, going to lengths to do so in both forms. 

Needing fewer calories yet still ravenous. The panther’s pantry is a simple large cupboard, it’s shelf’s sparse. Rey takes only what she needs and begrudgingly a can of vegetables. 

A hefty thwack makes her flinch, the noise repeats until she stumbles and crawls back onto the bed to look out the window.

_Alpha._

The ax raises over his shoulder, muscle corded and tense with kinetic energy then released and wood split. Sweat and freckles cover the broad expanse of his bareback, dark half-tamed by a cord of leather. Something pulls his attention, letting Rey look at him in profile, angular and beautiful. She should be frightened, instead finds something comforting in his sloping jaw, cut of his cheekbone, and strong brow dissected by the thin line of scar tissue. That still primal part of her proud that this Alpha has faced others, capability held his frame in old and new lines crossing it. She watches how his torso expands with a huff, the line of his bicep defined when he handles his ax while he turns back to his work. His shoulders roll as he pushes off the suspenders, letting them dangle at his hips. 

There is an insistent tug below her navel, churning and molten, demanding her fingers to move. Heat bleeding through like the slick on her inner thigh, aching around the emptiness. She’s transfixed with his work. Her knuckle muffling any sound between her teeth, locking moans in her throat like a secret. The ax split down the center of dried wood, cracking as her fingers curl and eyes flutter shut.

_Alpha._

The stump that Ben uses to balance uncut wood on is pocketed with deep gouges, burying the ax deeper with each swing. His body trembles in need of release, the rut unexpected in many ways. Pent-up aggression nearly drives him to patrol his perimeter conflicting with the need to be close to the mountain lion still in his bed. 

The side of his face feels tight where she had scratched him. The skin knitting together into scar tissue when he continued to shift rather than allowing it to heal properly. Ben pants as sweat beads and runs down everything ridge of his body. It’s only slightly easier to breathe outside, the scent of the mountain lion around his mouth somewhat diluted in the fresh air. The wind carries distracting wolf musk, different from the one he followed this morning. His superior officer’s pack to the south must be checking on him. Ben won’t be able to keep his scent from marking every leaf he passes, they’ll scent the rut and come to look for what triggered it. The potential threat has him pacing a thick line between his cabin and the wolf infested forest. 

Ultimately, he allows the other shifter to continue living and moves to hide his scent in the safety of his cabin. 

He’s halfway up the worn path when an unidentifiable essence curls around his throat, heady but light like the way the skins of blueberries break against his tongue. Unexpected like the weather changing into a blizzard without warning, a natural force compressed into pheromones. The faded red door feels heavy when he pulls it open, sweet perfume billowing softly against his bare skin. One step inside and the threshold framing him, Ben watches long, tan legs pull off the floor as a young woman scrambles back onto his bed. Something tightens in his stomach at the sight of his shirt buttoned over her thighs, then coils uncomfortably at the apprehension in her wide eyes. 

“Don’t—” her voice is quiet around the one word, not finishing the command. Ben stops as the Omega willed, though she lacks finesse and it’s rather clumsy for both. This entire moment felt dimly surreal, from the moment he saw her in the sunlight to the cool urge to obey and bend under her will. Alphas have always been more closely linked to their biology; larger, stronger, made to challenge others. For Omegas they were protected, but were at the disadvantage against their counterparts, only their voice shielding them. 

He raises his hands in front of him, rough and calloused, as he sinks onto his heels. 

“I won’t hurt you, you’re safe here,” Ben tells her once he’s closer to the floor and below her wary gaze. His hands are still in front of him, moving slowly. It nearly hurts for him to talk, voice rough from disuse. 

Her chin tilts up, a flower to the sun, an empress under the weight of her crown. This Omega is a quick study, he’s learning quickly. “Show me you mean well, Alpha.” 

Ben clears his throat and says, “I promise you—you smell like me.” 

Both of their brows furrow as they consider one another for a moment after the shocking revelation. Her eyes stay on his as she lifts the collar of his shirt to smell her skin beneath. The hem drags up her legs, the entire curve of her hip exposed. 

“Why do I smell like you?” Her hazel eyes narrowed at him, no less vicious between forms. When his lips part to find words she gasps quietly, slim hand darting under his shirt to her mating gland on her neck. Shock fell to indignation, “Did you scent me?”

“No! No, I—I.” He fumbled, mouth working to give her the answer she demanded. “I—groomed you.” 

Her shoulders go slack, his shirt open and exposing the unmarked and angry red of her mating gland. Ben didn’t smell another Alpha intermingled with her scent but being able to see the unmarked skin under her fur forced him to shift his feet, so she couldn’t see his erection where he kneels.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Alpha,” she said quietly in a disbelieving tone. 

“My name is Ben, you don’t have to call me Alpha.” He manages to keep the sullen tone from his voice, chewing on the fact that she’s not his Omega.

“Do you not like your designation or do you not like me calling you Alpha,” she blurts out, eyes tight in the corners.

“I’m not sure, no one has ever called me that,” he answers honestly and pretends that she didn’t react as if his words stung or that she wasn’t rubbing away the pain in her chest with a small hand. “I hope you’re not offended, you were dirty and I—it’s what my mother did to me feel… better, centered.” 

“Thank you,” she mumbles again as she picks at the hem of his shirt. 

“Who are you?” Ben asks with a cock of his head, feline no matter what. 

“I’m Rey,” she tells him and brushes back her tangled hair. The motion makes him stand too quickly, she flinches and moves back further on the bed. Omega slick damped the furs and perfumed the air in thick arousal. Ben freezes, holding himself back from burying his face in it before kissing her ankle in askance, moving up her leg with his mouth until he reaches the apex of her thighs and—

He forgot what he stood up for and glances at Rey. Her breathing is heavy and while her entire frame is tense, waiting to see what he will do and yet strangely trusting of his next action. Briefly, he wonders what her answer would be if he pressed his mouth against her skin. 

“I have a comb you can use,” he blurts out when his mind catches up to his intentions, “I can heat up some water, so you can get cleaner than—licking.”  
He finishes a little lamely with a flush settling on his cheekbones, it had felt natural at the time but putting verbs to his action made him scuff his feet against the floor and look away from her questioning look. 

Rey sits on the bed while he moves around the one-room cabin, straightening items on shelves and picking up that one shirt that lived on the floor for the past season. A small fire is built in his woodstove and he can feel her inquisitive gaze over his broad shoulder as he arranges tinder and adds small sticks until a different, tangible heat licks up his fingers. Her gaze on him is distracting yet not, there is a weight to it but welcomed even as he fidgets beneath it. 

“Ben?” 

“Rey.” He says as he wipes down his counter with one hand and carefully arranges his coffee cup next to his percolator with the other. 

“Breathe.” 

“I—sorry, I’ve never,” His jaw works, pressing his lips together before huffing, “I've never been around an Omega before. At least, not without blockers.” 

“If you’re not on—how have you not—” Her expression turns speculative, drinking all of him from ruffled hair to bare feet. His hands brace his counter, so he can slump forward with bunched shoulders, a muted anger at the treatment she must have experienced from other, undeserving Alphas. 

“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you,” he whispers, but now it sinks in fully and she finally relaxes completely in front of him. He braces himself for what he has to say next. “My supply drop won’t be here for another month, and I don’t have enough food for both of us. I have to go hunting and it’s pertinent that you stay inside.” 

“Wait,” Her hand is outstretched towards him, a desperate sheen over her hazel eyes. 

“I’ll come back for you, sweetheart.” Instinct making his words and frame soft as he brushes her hair back, hand large against her cheek. His thumb runs over countless freckles high on her cheekbone and he can feel her sigh against his wrist. The path of his palm stops just above her scent gland, a whimper in her throat when he pulls away. 

“Let me come with you.” It’s not a demand but a plea, her hand wrapped lightly around his wrist. “I don’t know how to survive here—teach me.”

A protective, self-assured hum rolls over him. Rey managed to claw out a different side of him, one more willing and adventurous, certain selflessness in the short hours she’s been awake and in his shirt. He preens under her request, shuffling out of the door awkward when she stands. His plaid shirt falls to her above her knee, the fabric damp as she turns to unbutton it. As always for Ben, there is a magnetic pull to watch how her shoulders move even in the most mundane task. 

It’s easier to pull the door shut with her inside. Something unfamiliar and possessive purrs when she’s going to join him if only in this, she belongs to him under his guidance. Ben throws his pants over the sturdy railing of the small porch, waiting for her on four paws with a flicking tail. 

This close and her not actively trying to kill him, he can notice lithe limbs and longer, thicker tail made for balance compared to his taller, bulkier frame. Rey rubs her cheek over his shoulder, her neck meeting his and scent glands gliding against each other. A purr in her throat as she continues to run against him and under his chin. His whiskers twitch as he stays still for her, unsure of himself and briefly wondering if this is some sort of test of his control.

He fails when his tongue scraped against her temple, but she continues to purr, making him think perhaps he didn’t fail after all. Ben leaned down to bump his forehead against hers. Rey’s eyes are closed as he watches their noses nearly touch, the golden hue of her fur brilliant in the sunlight. Small flecks of brown intermixed, mimicking the freckles underneath. 

It was strange to patrol with her by his side, checking snares and traps, letting her watch him rub his neck against the smooth bark of birch trees. Rey narrows her eyes into a shift of wind, the wolf fainter and further away than it had been in the past two days. Ben huffed in relief, one less thing to worry about when protecting his— 

_Rey._

It's terrifying to have an Omega in his space, beside him, in his nose, somehow made exponentially worse that she is a cat. Mountain lions are ambush predators, tracking with their eyes and pinpointing weakness with keen ability. Even if she is a sloppy hunter, she has the enthusiasm to get the job done and it makes him wary and exhilarated to feel her creep up behind him outside his cabin. Twilight hung overhead, the milky way already bright to his dilated pupils behind the opal colored skies. Ben tugs his pants from the railing with his teeth, careful not to puncture the fabric.  
Rey watches him find privacy with his pants hanging awkwardly from his maw and dragging between his front feet.

He freezes when he finds her unabashedly naked on his porch, posture melting with a sudden laugh. A flush spreads over her chest.

“How do you get so dirty?” he asks with an unguarded smile. The calluses of his hands chafe over her bear bicep, warming her skin and teasing goosebumps to the surface.

She shrugs, the curve of her mouth tilting into a grin. “I don’t have the habit of staying clean.”

Ben offers his hand to her. Tension loosens between his shoulders when her palm slides against his.

“You’re not much of a cat.”

Bemused as he is, the statement struck her, a phantom tug on her cheek twitched with her non-existent whiskers. 

“Do you know others?” Someone better than her? she wanted to ask.

“Just my mother. My father was a Beta.”

“Was?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

He swallowed and looked away from her, fiddling with the lock on his cabin door. 

“I was raised by a drunk coyote so I don’t have my experience with parents or being a cat,” she offers without judgment.

There’s no fear on her now, though hunger still shows in the taut gaps between her ribs. 

“Is the coyote still alive?” he asked, curiosity killing the cat. Ben isn’t sure what he would do if she says yes, the urge to hunt rolling in his gut.

She gnawed on the corner of her fingernail, careful of the dried blood from their hunt. Satisfaction in her smile hidden behind her fist.

“No.”

“Come,” he beckons. 

Inside the cabin, Rey watches as Ben lit the oil lamp hanging in the kitchen. She perches on the edge of the bed, balanced on the balls of her feet pressed into the wood flooring and disarmed by the scent of her heat coloring the fur of his bed. She can feel sweat dripping down her temple and she wonders what Ben would look like kneeling at her feet. It’s easier to ignore her heat in her other form, but now she has a voice to tell him what she needed. Rey needs him.

“You don’t need to heat the water,” she tells him, “I’m too hot.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” she says in a low voice that makes him look over his shoulder at her.

Without a word, Ben brings the washbasin and a stool in front of her. He dipped the rag in the cool water and ran it over her neck. She can taste blood as she tries to hold back a whimper. Her vision is hazy when Ben drags his gaze back to her face.

“Hold up your hair,” he orders softly. 

Sweat beaded on her neck and wiped away with his careful touch. Her head rolls to the side and he brings up a hand to cup her cheek, holding her still as he continues to wipe their excursion into the woods from her skin. Rey’s eyes close as she leans into him.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he coos. 

“My heat, Ben,” Rey whispers.

His fingers tremble against her collarbone.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, his thumb brushes over her lips. Her tongue darts out and his spine turns molten. His shoulders pull together as he sat straighter. Voice rough, he tells her, “Lay back for Daddy.”

He thinks her eyes rolled back before her lashes squeezed together. The only sound is the rag dripping into the basin as he wrung it out and her breathing. Diligently, he focused on wiping off her thighs and not the tantalizing rise and fall of her small, pert tits. He wraps his hand around her ankle and carefully pulls her leg onto the fur-covered bed. 

“Let me see you, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she sighs, thighs open and pliable under his guiding hand. She whimpers and bucks into the cool cloth covering her cunt. He snakes a hand beneath her back just as his thumb barely brushes her clit to feel her arch sharply into the touch. Ben shushes her when she pleads in a high whine, legs shaking as he circles gently. Slick runs down her skin, soaking her thatch of curls. Ben drops the cloth and gathers it on his fingers, gently pushing the gossamer liquid back where it belongs. She’s incredibly tight around just one of his fingers, gasping and clenching as he works as delicately as possible in and out of her cunt.

“I want your--” words melt into a moan and her hips squirm, tilting to take him deeper.

“You can say it. Tell Daddy what you want.”

“Your knot,” she gasps, “please.”

“Good girl,” he growls, leaning over her to press a kiss to her sternum and presses another finger into her. Rey moves onto her elbows and catches his lips with hers as he looks up at her. It’s messy and languid but her tongue against his makes him groan into her mouth. The sound shudders down her spine until she collapses against his bed, her core tight and a soundless moan leaving her lips in a sigh. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Come on my fingers, we need to work this pretty cunt open if you want my cock.” 

She writhes, hips rolling frantically onto his hand to chase her orgasm until he stands and leans over her. Ben grips her neck, pinning her to the mattress and leaving her clenching around nothing as he withdrawals his hand. Slick drips down his wrist onto her stomach as he licks at the pad of his finger.

“Poor, poor, greedy little thing, aren’t you? Be still and take what Daddy gives you,” he says quietly and pushes his fingers into her panting mouth.  
Rey nods and her heels drag across the fur as she spreads her legs wider for him. His hand leaves her neck, spanning between her collarbones to her flat. His head dips between her thighs and she screams. 

Ben reaches up and pulls the hand she bit down on to choke the sound. He presses a kiss to her straining thigh. “It’s okay, no one can hear you.”

He pulls back with one last long lick and she whimpers, her hand still in his tugs at him to come back. He rubs his thumb over her bruised knuckle. 

“Is this from earlier, sweetheart?” he asks, sweet and knowing, “When you were making a mess of my bed without permission?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I needed it. Couldn’t help myself when I was watching you.” 

He kisses her hand and the ridge of her hip bone. “I would punish you if you weren’t so desperate. Tie your hands behind your back and make you come on my thigh until you're needy and swollen.”  
Ben’s rut was settling nicely in his groin, the urge to fuck her muted under the need to make her come again and again on his bed. She stilled, eyes glassy. He winced, pulling his hand back until it hovered over her skin. 

“Is this too much?” a hot flush spread over the sharp slant of his cheekbone. 

She shook her head, hair wild and beautiful. “You’re perfect, Daddy, treating me so well.”

“I’ve waited for you for so long, Rey.”

He gathers her up in his arms, lifting her from the bed with his lips slanting across hers. Her fingers tighten in his hair as he presses her bare chest to him, each part touching her more important than the gravity weighing him down. Her thighs are tired and pliant as he arranges her on his lap, cock against her clit. Ben swats her ass once when she tries to ground her hips down.

“Easy, sweetheart. What did I tell you?”

“Take what Daddy gives you,” she whines, back arching to press her ass better into his palm. “I want you.” Rey’s face was red, feverish with heat as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. With one arm he lifts her from his lap, her arms tightening around his neck as he fumbles with his fly. She doesn’t breathe as he lowers her slowly onto his cock, inch by inch, filling her better than air. Rey gasps against the column of his throat when she seated completely. Tears pinch at the corners of her hazel eyes.

“That hurt, baby?”

“Feels good,” she slurs, eyelids half shut.

“I could come just like this,” he says against her temple, smoothing her hair back, “your perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock, but I know you want to show me what a good girl you are. Show me how you can move, Rey.”

He helps guide her heated body slowly up his cock, feeling her clench and tremble. Ben grips her ass hard enough to bruise and groans against the scent gland tucked behind her ear. He nips at her skin, kissing and sucking up her neck, nowhere near her aching gland.

“If you want my knot, you have to keep my cock deep in your pussy. My omega is too tight otherwise,” he mumbled, guiding her against him harder. “That’s right baby. Look at you, just _stuffed_.”

“So full,” she whispers and kisses the corner of his mouth. Ben moves one hand, pushing it between them, to rub little circles over her clit until she’s shaking and sobbing and hiccups. Her thighs tight around his hips and slick ruining his pants pushes him over the edge. “Too much, Daddy--”

“No, no,” he admonishes gently, tracing her ear as he tucks her hair back, “you were made for this.” 

Locked together, Ben bent to grab the cloth once more. Rey shifted closer as he ran to the cool water over her heated skin, sated for now. He soothes her overstimulated nerves and tips her head back for water. She snores against his neck, quietly and kittenish, mumbling nonsense under her breath as Ben waits for his world to realign. He lays her on her back and instinctively pushes his cum back in. He’ll have to look for abortive herbs as part of his morning chores, unlikely she’ll have proper birth control. Rey shifts and blinks up at him with a sleepy smile. He shucks off his pants and stretches next to her. Rey rolls into his side, fitting perfectly against him.

He finally felt the courage to ask once his cock softens, “Why did you come here?”

“I was wandering, lost and losing myself to instinct, and suddenly it smelled like home, smelled like you,” she murmured.

**Author's Note:**

> :')
> 
> twitter [@madsaialik](https://twitter.com/madsaialik)


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